Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 129207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
“Oh yeah. Of course. I would love to,” I tell her as she leads me through the exquisite mansion. “But also, in regard to Lenny’s call, please don’t let him rush on account of me. I have nowhere else to be.”
“Sure thing,” she says. “As you’re probably aware, the boys are in the middle of rehearsals, but judging from the lack of sound, they must be taking a quick break. I’m sure they’ll be back at it any moment now.”
Marley reaches the stairs and begins sailing down them like a beautiful swan while I’m left to grapple at the railing, trying not to trip over my own feet.
We reach the bottom step just as her phone begins to ring, and she glances down before sucking in a breath. “Oh shoot. I have to get this,” she rushes out. “Just head down the hall and to the right. They’re expecting you.”
“Okay, thanks,” I say with a smile as Marley quickly answers her call.
She scurries away with the phone to her ear, and before I know it, I’m left alone to meet the newest additions to Louder Records.
Making my way down the hall, I quickly find the studio, only as I walk into it, I come up short. The place is deserted, but it’s clear they were just in here . . . or have been at some point during the day. There are cups and take-out containers spread across the studio and hoodies thrown over the back of a couch. For just a moment, I feel like a teenager again, walking into the garage to see the boys fucking around as they practiced. That garage was their home just as Ezra’s arms were mine. Hell, it even smells the same in here. Or maybe that’s just the stench that comes along with boy bands.
A fondness rustles through my chest as I take a quick look around. There’s nothing in here that gives anything away about the new band. So, I walk deeper into the room to find the bass drum that would usually have the band’s name across the front, but the soft sound of laughter from deeper in the studio pulls my attention elsewhere.
Today is not the day to linger on thoughts of the past. Today, I get to move forward.
I follow the murmured voices across the studio to a private room. The door is open, but from where I’m standing, I can’t see in, and I’m assuming by the continued laughter inside, whoever is in there hasn’t noticed me yet.
Then, stepping right into the open doorway, I lift my hand to knock, only to come face-to-face with Ezra fucking Knight.
My heart stops, horror blasting through my system and leaving me momentarily paralyzed. He sits on a small couch with two women hovering over him. His shirt is nowhere to be seen, showing off a full chest of tattoos and three pendants hanging from loose chains around his neck that have me desperate to look closer, but I wouldn’t dare. The button of his jeans is undone as though he were just about to spend the rest of his day sinking into these two women . . . or maybe he already has. They look like dancers, but it’s not even the half-naked women breaking my heart, it’s the white powder he’s too busy snorting to even notice me here.
I’ve seen it in all the tabloids, splashed over the internet as though it were a personal attack, but to see him like this in the flesh . . . I’ve never felt so disgusted in my life. Is this really what he gave everything up for? He broke me so thoroughly just so he could be some fucking joke, living up the rockstar lifestyle and snorting coke in the basement of his fucking mansion with a bunch of half-naked women?
It becomes all too obvious that this magnificent home I’m in is his, and this job offer was nothing more than a scam just to get me through the door. But surely if he knew I was coming, this isn’t the way he’d greet me. No, this asshole doesn’t know a damn thing. He’s spiraling, and his label is making one final attempt to pull him out of the darkness, and they think they’re going to use me to do it. Well fuck that. I’m nobody’s pawn.
Happy fucking birthday to me. I knew it was too good to be real.
I suck in a gasp, and the girl draped over the lap that used to be mine glances up. “Oh, sorry,” she says, climbing off Ezra’s lap. “I didn’t see you there. You must be the new marketing chick.”
Ezra lazily lifts his gaze, starting at my feet and slowly working up my body. He’s indifferent, not giving a shit about the random woman standing before him. It’s as if he no longer cares about his career or the people on his team. As that dark, familiar gaze lifts to my face, his indifference morphs into nothing but pure horror.